Never Kiss a Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  Mairead pulled back so that she could turn around but did not completely step out of his grasp. “That’s not an answer.”

  Hamish’s green eyes grew dark with intensity. “Then, aye. Most sane men are attracted to a beautiful woman,” he said flippantly. A muscle flicked angrily in her jaw. She took a step back forcing him to let her go.

  Hamish could not blame her. He had known he was not going to be able to physically push her away, so he had said something to make her do it. Her anger he could handle. But it was not anger he had seen flash in her eyes just before she pulled away. It had been pain. He had hurt her and it wrenched him to know he was the cause.

  He wished he could tell her the truth. Tell her that he craved her lips, that he had tasted nothing better in his life and how they haunted him every night. But saying such things would only cause more pain, because a simple kiss would not quench his thirst for her. It would only create more desire. And Mairead deserved a man who could give her more than a kiss.

  Mairead stuck her chin up and waited until she was certain she had his undivided attention. “Would you kiss me again if I asked?”

  Hamish swallowed. He had just reaffirmed that was something he was not going to do again . . . didn’t he? “I . . . I am not sure that would be a good idea. For either of us.”

  Mairead took a step forward, reclosing the gap. “I’m asking for a kiss—nothing more.”

  Hamish shook his head, fighting his instincts so he could remain in control. He needed to ignore what she would feel like and focus on what would happen if he succumbed to her offer. He was losing the battle. “I won’t be trapped into staying,” he muttered in an accusing tone.

  Mairead put a hand on his chest and looked him in the eye. “And I won’t let the act of enjoying a mere kiss tie me to a man either. Hamish, I’m not thinking about the future right now. I just want to know if what I felt that day in the great hall was a fluke.”

  Every muscle in Hamish’s body froze. His mind, however, was whirling out of control. He knew their kiss had affected her, but it was still shocking to hear Mairead admit it. And she was not seeking promises, just answers.

  “A kiss is not a commitment, Hamish.” Mairead let go a small chuckle. “If it were, I would be married a few dozen times by now.”

  A few dozen times? A surge of jealousy shot through him at the image of her kissing a long line of men. If he thought about it rationally, at the age of twenty and two it would have been more surprising if Mairead had not been kissed a few times. She was beautiful and probably highly sought by many as a potential wife. But Hamish was incapable of rational thought with her so close. The heat of her hand was making his blood boil and her fresh scent was causing his body to make demands of its own. All he could think was that he needed to erase the memory of every man’s touch but his own.

  Powerless to stop himself, Hamish could not pull his gaze away from her lips as he slowly, inevitably, lowered his mouth to hers. His arms gathered her close in case she suddenly realized what was about to happen, because Mairead was not going anywhere. She wanted to know if the passion of their kiss had been a fluke and he was not going to keep her wondering any longer.

  He brushed his tongue across her lips, silently urging her to open for him. When she did, Hamish invaded the sweet warmth he had been dreaming of for days. He kissed her long and soft and deep, capturing her tongue and drawing it into his own mouth. It seemed hardly possible, but she tasted better than he remembered. The more he sought, the more she gave him—her eager response perfectly matching his own fervor.

  A shiver rolled through Mairead as she committed the kiss to memory. This was her first real kiss and it was more than she had ever dreamed it could be. She was unprepared for the feelings being created within her. She should be terrified. Hamish was searing her senses with intimate aggression that should make her run away. But each masterful stroke of his tongue only increased her desire.

  The other day, Hamish had awoken feelings that were now burning out of control. She said she liked to play with fire, but kissing Hamish was like embracing an inferno. And yet, she wanted more.

  Hamish groaned as Mairead began to move her hands up along his chest. She was returning his kiss with an innocent, but nonetheless intense level of passion he never sensed in another woman. When he felt her fingers clench his shoulders, his lower body similarly clenched with need. Mo chreach, Mairead was soft, warm, and inviting. She was everything he had ever dreamed of in a woman; consequently, kissing her was the most dangerous thing he had ever done. He was not just in danger of doing something that would lock them together forever but in danger of losing his heart. This time there would be no broken pieces to mend.

  Mairead sensed Hamish was about to pull away and refused to let him. She twisted her fingers into his hair and held on. Jeán had wanted her to learn how she truly felt about Hamish. Mairead was not sure of anything at the moment. She had been unprepared for the feelings Hamish was igniting in her. Later she could analyze just what they meant, but right now all she wanted was to sink her soul into this kiss.

  Hamish moved his hands to cradle her face as he drank hungrily from her lips. He could not get enough of her lips, her taste, her touch. He wanted to consume the essence of her vibrant spirit. He needed to get closer, to feel more of her, taste more of her.

  The full force of his hunger broke over Mairead. The kiss was growing in intensity. It was now darker, more demanding, and far more blatantly erotic. It was as if Hamish was unconsciously testing her desire. Mairead did not think; she only felt. And what she felt could be summed up in one word: “more.” She leaned into him and with her fingers buried in the softness of his hair, she held his mouth to hers. She did not want this kiss to end.

  Mairead moaned with pleasure into his mouth, stroking his tongue with her own, matching his wild, ravenous desire. Hamish’s body was tight. He wanted to lose himself within her. Her breasts had contracted until her nipples were firm little nubs pressing urgently against his chest, begging to be touched. Without thought, his hands became as undisciplined as his mouth. He stroked a warm path from her shoulders to the base of her spine and then up her stomach until they cupped her breasts, reveling in their fullness.

  Mairead shivered as he gently squeezed one nub. Even through the material, he could feel her respond and using both thumbs, he began to tease the hard peaks. She moaned but did not pull away, instead arching her back, encouraging him to continue.

  As he feared, kissing Mairead did not quench his desires. It had stoked them to levels he could not control. Unfamiliar emotions began to churn him. Need tore through him, ripping away all his carefully constructed defenses and leaving only the agony of knowing she could never be more to him than she was at this moment. And yet he couldn’t stop.

  The hot, sweet, sensuous kiss went on and on, suffusing her body with an aching need for more. Hamish was making her body come alive and the more he touched her the more she wanted to be touched. To remove their clothing and feel his skin against hers. His arms were taut with muscle, and his body was excitingly harder than hers. Mairead clung to him in confusion and desire.

  Gu sealladh orm, he could feel the fire growing in her. Her needs fed his and vice versa. To know this woman would be unlike any experience he would ever have. He wanted her and she wanted him and he was about to throw all reason aside when a piercing sound of two drunk men singing yanked him back to reality and—where he was, whom he was with, and just what he had been about to do.

  All ye Highlanders lend an ear,

  Come alang, come alang, wi’some ale a song,

  When Hamish’s lips released hers, it took several seconds for Mairead to realize just why he stopped.

  For we’ve got er tale that ye never did hear

  Of a mighty Highlander who’s finally come home.

  Mairead blinked and looked around. She saw no one, but she could hear a very drunk and a very out-of-tune Seamus and Abe coming. Soon they would be around the corner a
nd in sight and her chest was still heaving with the effort it took to breathe. She would have thought she was the only one deeply affected by their kiss except for Hamish’s own uneven intake of his breath.

  Hamish made sure that Mairead could stand on her own and then stepped away from her. He collected the reins of both horses and handed one set to her. He was just about to mount his horse when the two men came into view. Both waved at Hamish and he walked toward them, providing a distraction and time for Mairead to fix her hair. However, he doubted either of them could focus well enough to recognize the telltale signs of what he and Mairead had just been doing.

  “I see you found the ale. How’s the tower floor?”

  Abe threw an arm around Seamus’s shoulders. “I thought you were ar buile for wanting holes in the tower floor. Still kind of do.”

  “Not me,” Seamus said interrupting, “I’m thinking of building a floor in me barn just so I ’ave somethin’ to pound on when me wife nags at me again.”

  With that Abe started singing again and Seamus joined him as they continued to stumble their way back home.

  Hamish waited until they had turned the next bend before he went back to Mairead to ask her if she was ready to return to Foinaven. But when she had looked at him, he knew he was in trouble.

  Her eyes were still misty with passion and her lips, red and swollen, beckoned to be kissed again. He thought her taste had haunted him before, but it was nothing like it would be. She was sweet and spicy and he would forever crave her taste. The effect she had on him was dangerous for he could see himself giving anything to have it again.

  Hamish looked away. He wanted to think that he would have stopped their embrace before it had gone any further. But deep down he was not sure he would have. Even now, it was taking everything he had not to walk over and resume where they had left off.

  He mounted his horse and tried to clear his mind, but it was not working. He needed space away from her or he would have no chance at regaining control over the emotions she had stirred within him. Why had he kissed her? Did he want to lose his heart to someone he could not have? Because he was on the verge of doing just that. And if Mairead felt even a tiny bit of what he did, then he was setting her up for heartache as well. They needed distance from each other and right now. He just prayed she understood that.

  “The village is just around the corner,” he said as Mairead mounted her own horse. With his thumb, he pointed in the direction Seamus and Abe had gone. “I think it might be best if I make sure those two make it back home and to their wives. Otherwise, they might pass out and freeze to death before anyone finds them. Are you able to travel the rest of the way yourself?”

  Mairead nodded. She normally would have chafed at the question. But the way her emotions were spinning out of control, she was glad to finish the journey by herself. “I will see you later.” And with those words, she urged her horse toward Foinaven.

  Hamish had not missed how the tension in her shoulders had eased upon hearing his suggestion that they part. He should have been comforted by her ready agreement to travel alone.

  But he wasn’t.

  Chapter Eight

  Mairead woke with a start and sat straight up in bed. She shivered. Her feet were freezing. She reached for a blanket to pull around her, wondering why it was so very cold in her room. As she rubbed her eyes, her mind slowly stirred to life and she looked around. The almost-always-present clouds had yet to return, letting rare winter starlight stream through her bedchamber window. It was not very bright, but it was enough to see what she was wearing.

  With a thump, Mairead fell back against her mattress. She was not sure what time it was, but if the temperature of the room was an indicator, the fire had gone out hours ago, which made it the middle of the night. That meant she had not only missed dinner, but everything else she had intended to do before she retired.

  Selah had probably come to get her, but rather than waking her, decided to just let her sleep. Mairead rolled over. Sometimes she loved her sister’s generosity, but this was not one of those moments. Selah should have woken her to help with Rab, handle dinner, and if necessary, deal with Hamish.

  Mairead had stopped by Robert’s chambers to say hello after she had returned from Davros’s but had not been allowed to stay long. His condition had become worse and he was now running a low fever. A fever was not unexpected and though Robert always pulled through his illness every year, it was getting more and more troubling to hear him struggle to breathe. The only thing Mairead knew to do was pray and be there for her elder sister.

  By the time she had finished talking with Selah and doing what she could to lift her sister’s spirits, Hamish had still not returned. Knowing the evening meal would not be for at least two more hours, Mairead had decided to retire to her room to lie down. The day had been long and she was exhausted after being unable to sleep the last couple of nights. But mostly, she needed a quiet, private place to think . . . and to remember.

  Never had she thought that within minutes of lying down she would fall asleep. But she had.

  The last thing Mairead could remember was sitting on the bed and slipping off her shoes. She had been thinking about Hamish, about their kiss and what it meant, but before she had come to even one conclusion she must have fallen asleep. Mairead rolled so that she could stare at the ceiling and flopped an arm across her forehead as her memories of her dreams returned in flashes. In them, Hamish was kissing her again. In some, he just vanished, leaving her to shrink and eventually turn into dust. But in others, he had declared her to be his. He fought off Ulrick and then reclaimed his right to Foinaven, where they lived the rest of their lives happily together.

  Mairead squeezed her eyes shut as the hazy memory of him kissing her to prove his love began to replay again. Flinging her arm to the side, she grabbed the pillow, put it over her face, and then screamed into it with frustration.

  If only that future was even slightly possible. But it was not, and entertaining the idea that it could ever happen was pointless. And yet that knowledge did nothing to quench the passion Hamish had stirred in her.

  Groaning, she rolled her legs off the bed and stood up to remove her outer clothes and become more comfortable. She threw two logs in the hearth and nudged the nearly dead embers until they sprung to life and caught the wood on fire. She then splashed some water on her face, brushed her hair, and returned to bed.

  Snuggling down under the covers to get warm, Mairead curled up on her side and wondered if Hamish had been grappling with what happened between them the same way she was. Maybe, for he had been gone far longer than it would have taken to see Abe and Seamus home. But then again, she was not even sure when he returned. Maybe he had gone to the valley and never gave their kiss any thought for she had been the one to insist that it would be a simple kiss and it would change nothing.

  Problem was, to her, what happened by the river was much more than just a kiss. It felt like she had found where she belonged. She suddenly knew where she could be happy every day for the rest of her life, where she would be safe and loved and free to be herself.

  Mairead pulled the blankets and murmured curses at Jeán. Aye, a kiss proved that she was far more interested in Hamish than she had wanted to admit. But just how far did her emotions go? Was she in love with him? Mairead was not sure.

  Desire by itself was not love and would always fade with time. But Mairead had been infatuated before and this was different. Those times she was enamored of one or two characteristics, but not the man as a whole. With Hamish, she craved all of him—even the things that drove her insane. She wanted him and just as he was. So was this love? She was afraid to answer without knowing how he felt about her. He desired her. But he had since the moment he had arrived. Had their kiss also caused him to rethink his feelings? Would he even allow himself the possibility of loving her?

  Mairead closed her eyes. Her feelings were so raw and turbulent. No matter how she looked at them, they were impossible to defi
ne. Why was it easy to discern the feelings and character of others but difficult within herself? She never struggled to see the emotions that drove people, whether it be love, envy, or even hatred. Why could she not discern the truth of her own heart as easily?

  Mairead bolted back to a sitting position. She really could easily recognize the motivations of others, it was just knowing what to look for. The matters of her heart may always be a mystery; however, the truth about people’s loyalties did not have to be. She knew just how to help Hamish flesh out the moles in the guard.

  Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—her idea required both her and Hamish to spend a significant amount of time together.

  * * *

  Hamish slid off his horse and entered the castle gates, wondering why Foinaven even had them. All an enemy needed was a few lit torches and the wooden barrier would cease to be.

  He had gotten an especially early start that morning to give himself enough time to travel a little farther and meet with some people Davros thought might be influential in his plan. The falconer had been correct. They were exactly whom he was looking for, but he had not known where to look for them.

  He entered the stables and handed the reins to the very lethargic stable boy. Adiran, who had helped him prep to leave, must not have gone back to sleep. Hamish could see it in the lad’s eyes and suspected that same weariness could be viewed in his. But his fatigue was not caused by the early departure, the distance he had traveled, or even the stressful time he had dealing with those who did not know him, even by reputation. He could have never left—he knew that he would still feel this deep weariness.

  It was all because of Mairead.

  She was the one who convinced him a kiss would be nothing more than that. And he had let himself believe her. But it had been much more than a kiss. Kissing was something he had done much in his lifetime and never before had the activity made it difficult to do even the simplest of functions. But what made it worse was knowing that for Mairead it had been just a simple kiss.